


heart started to race (hands started to shake)

by stonesnuggler



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe - Not Hockey Player(s), Drinking, Frat Parties, M/M, Take Your Fandom to Work Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 18:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16500437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stonesnuggler/pseuds/stonesnuggler
Summary: “That’s Dylan,” Mike says. “He’s always here at open, never says more than five words, and always gets the same thing.”Nick quirks an eyebrow. “A quad red-eye and a cookie?”“Heart wants what the heart wants, Nicholas,” Kyle says. “His heart wants to explode before six in the morning.”[or: the Arizona Coyotes Frat/Coffee Shop AU that nobody asked for]





	heart started to race (hands started to shake)

**Author's Note:**

> holy hell she's done!! this has been almost a year in the making, aided in part by my employment at a coffee shop and also by nick and dylan's stupid cute interactions on the internet. 
> 
> Please please please check out the [amazing artwork done for this fic](https://evian-fork.dreamwidth.org/1216.html)!! evianfork did an incredible job giving off the exact vibe i wanted for this piece and i adore it and them so much. 
> 
> many many thank yous are in order here: to jay and LJ for betaing this while i slept after finishing it at 6am. to julia, ellie, gina, ali, and lotts for reading it through and giving me mountains of validation. to grace and jacque for giving me the preliminary knowledge of how in the blue fuck greek life works, and to the ASU FIJI instagram, which i may have stalked a couple hundred times and gotten lost in a hole of. 
> 
> and of course to the hbb mods for being patient and tolerant. 
> 
> sorry if you're actually in a frat or actually attend ASU, i'm but a wee midwestern art schooler that has no knowledge of anything out west. this is strictly fictional and completely made up. 
> 
> title from nervous by shawn mendes.

 

When Nick’s alarm starts blaring at exactly 4:18 in the morning, he has already decided that it’s too early for this shit.

But here’s the thing --  a job is a job, and Nick likes coffee, so it makes sense that he’d get a job at Roadrunner’s. He’s only been working there for about a week, just a couple of mid-day and closing shifts, but it’s decent pay and his managers are nice, so he’s not really complaining.

Okay, maybe he’s complaining _now,_ especially since he’s opening for the first time. But up until now, everything has been going great.

He gets up, throws on a probably-clean work shirt and is out the door.He walks up to Roadrunners at 4:30 on the dot and nudges Kyle -- ‘ _call me Capo’ --_  where he’s waiting at the door, earning a grunted hello for his efforts.

Mike walks up not much later, keys jingling in hand as he unlocks the doors. Nick yawns as he moves inside, just narrowly avoiding Kyle ruffling his hair.

“Quit it,” he grumbles, but he’s smiling anyway. Kyle always opens the kitchen, and he’s often working well into the afternoon when Nick usually gets in. Nick likes him, and he can cop food that’s “close to expiring” for free, so it’s a pretty great friendship so far.

“Morning, Nicky,” Mike says, far too cheerful for this hour, especially before any of the coffee has actually been brewed.

Nick smiles, then yawns again, and Mike laughs as he moves past him, loads up the espresso grinder. He starts tinkering with the dials as Nick clocks in and ties an apron around his waist. He can still afford to fuck around for the next couple minutes, so he pours himself a glass of cold brew, tops it with a splash of coconut milk, and downs half of it in one drink.

A bagel slides up to the window between the kitchen and the front of the cafe -- toasted with veggie cream cheese -- and Nick smiles as he picks it up and takes a bite. Scribbled on the napkin is an order for the weird mix of iced teas that Kyle always drinks, but it’s easy enough to whip up, so Nick does. He sets it on the counter and it’s out of sight before Nick can even blink.

“Hey, so, Nicky. I know this is your first opening shift,” Mike says, catching Nick’s attention. He pauses to grind a serving of espresso beans into the portafilter. “I just wanna run through a couple things.”

Nick nods. “Yeah, for sure.”

“Okay, so bakery --” he points over to the tables at the front of the cafe, topped with boxes “-- can get unloaded and put into the cases. Pretty foolproof, just follow the signs on the back of the racks.”

“Easy enough,” Nick shrugs, walking over and grabbing one of the boxes. He sets it on top of the glass case, starting to put the pastries in their correct places as Mike pulls a few shots of espresso, tests them before dumping them.

“Leave a sugar cookie out, though,” Mike says, a bit of smile on his face as he takes a cup from the stack at Nick’s register.

He scribbles some markings on it and sets it near the pour-over station. It doesn’t strike Nick as super weird -- they all mark their own cups for their own drinks for the sake of things not getting thrown out as they sit on the shelf in the hallway -- until he remembers that Mike doesn’t drink coffee. Matter of fact, he’s sure that’s the only reason they stock the weird decaf tea that steeps purple and smells like his grandma’s purse.

This week’s cookies are fall themed, and there are a couple cute little animals Nick has his eye on. Nonetheless, Nick leaves the last cookie in the box -- a raccoon with cute blushing cheeks -- in a takeaway bag on top of the bakery case.

“How come?” Nick asks, but Mike just smiles.

“You’ll see,” he says. He tests one of the shots he just pulled before nodding, then dumps them. “Can you make that? It’ll be a sixteen-ounce blonde roast.”

Nick nods and gets to work. He’s only been here for a few weeks, but even in that short time here, he’s found making pour-overs is one of his favorite things to do. In the heat of the rush, it’s nice to just stand still, bloom the grounds and observe the bustle around him.

Caught up in the simplicity of it, Nick finds it as more of an afterthought that he’s definitely putting one of the highest caffeinated roasts they have into a cup marked with -- holy fuck, is that four shots of espresso going into this?

“Who are you trying to kill?” he asks Mike, pouring more water on the grounds in the filter.

Mike laughs, easy and bright and too loud for 4:57am.  

“That’s the next thing I’m gonna run through,” Mike says, coming next to Nick and clapping a hand on his shoulder. He points through one of the windows at the front of the shop, and it takes Nick a second to see what he’s pointing at.

There’s someone walking down the usually abandoned campus street, a pretty big bag slung over his shoulder, what looks like a hockey stick tucked between the bag and their back.

“That’s Dylan,” Mike says, and Kyle pops out from the back, hopping up to sit on the counter opposite the one that Nick is working at. “He’s always here at open, never says more than five words, and always gets the same thing.”

Nick quirks an eyebrow. “A quad red-eye and a cookie?”

“Heart wants what the heart wants, Nicholas,” Kyle says. “His heart wants to explode before six in the morning.”

Nick pours the finished drink into the cup along, passes it off to Mike so he can dump freshly pulled shots into it, and sets it next to his register just as Dylan walks into the shop. He nearly knocks over a display with his gear bag in the process, and Nick can’t help but smile, because this kid’s a bit of a disaster. That’s easy enough to decide as he takes in his crumpled clothes and a bright red Canada toque, even though it still feels like summer in Arizona. Nick wonders if he’s from there, if he misses it like Nick does.

On his register, the order is already punched in and pushed through to the payment screen courtesy of Kyle, who pats him on the back with a “good luck” as he ducks back into the kitchen again.

Dylan barely makes eye contact when he hands over his card and says, “Seven thirty-eight, right?”

Nick takes the plastic from his hand, slides it before handing it back, and the payment goes through. “Uh, yeah.”

He hands Dylan the bakery bag, then the cup, and Nick swears he can see the ghost of a smile as he yawns through a thank you and then he’s gone as fast as he came.

Nick’s still scratching his head when Mike snorts a laugh from over by the espresso machine.

“Four whole words out of him today,” he says, blasts some steam from from the wand before tucking it into metal pitcher.

Kyle pops out of the kitchen, door swinging as he leans against the wall. “That’s impressive for a Monday.”

“What just _happened_ ,” Nick says, scrubbing a hand at his face. “Was that even real? Am I even awake?”

Mike and Kyle laugh knowingly.

“You’ll get used to him soon enough,” Mike says, smiling.

Somehow, Nick doubts that.

The rest of his shift flies by pretty quickly, and he only has two more extra-large cups of cold brew, so he’ll notch this one as a win.

(He learned pretty quickly that while having access to unlimited amounts of coffee is great, his sleep schedule and his stomach did _not_ agree with him.)

Mat and Tito come in at one to take over for the closing shift, and Nick can’t count his drawer down fast enough, despite how tired he is.

“Got a hot date or something, Nicky?” Mike asks, ruffling his hair as Nick punches in his deposit and zeros his drawer out.

“Huh?”

“You’re in a bit of a hurry there,” he says, tugging at the halter strap of Nick’s apron, which he didn’t realize he had on still.

“I’m so fucking excited to nap,” Nick sighs, swiping his employee card and clicking the button to punch out a few more times than strictly necessary.

“See you tomorrow, kid,” Mike says, shaking his head, taking a drink of his tea.

Nick ends up back in the comfort of his apartment by 1:45, flopping face first onto the couch with a groan, instantly met with a laugh from Kole.

“Work went well, then?” Kole says, not even looking up from his laptop.

“Fuck off, Lindy,” Nick manages, just barely swatting away the throw pillow Kole throws at him.

He turns onto his side so he can get his phone out of his pocket. He’s scrolling through his Facebook, catching up on notifications when he sees some ad for the next Arizona Coyotes game. It’s just preseason, but after the colossal mess of a season they’re still trying to recover from, it makes sense as to why they’re trying to get more people in the stands.

Even just seeing one of the players in the ad reminds him of the interaction with Dylan early this morning. He didn’t know if ASU had a hockey team, or if it was club, or whatever the deal was. Nick is sure that if he’d known, he would’ve probably signed up to play. He misses the game like a phantom limb, especially after growing up surrounded by it. He honestly could probably still fit into his old, kids-sized Iginla jersey if he tried hard enough.

“Lindy,” Nick says, throwing the pillow back at him. “Do we have a hockey team?”

Kole furrows his eyebrows. “I think so? It’s kind of fake though. They’re supposed to be D-1, but I don’t think they got approved. I remember some kind of mess about it when my parents asked if I was going to keep playing.”

Nick hums, and doesn’t look into it any further, even though he wants to.

“Gotcha,” he says, locking his phone and setting it on his chest before tossing an arm over his eyes.

A pillow hits him in the face. “Why?”

“A guy came into work this morning with a bunch of gear,” Nick says, muffled by the pillow before he moves it, repeats what he said. “I was just curious.”

Kole hums, grumbles when Nick throws the pillow back, and goes back to whatever he was doing.

Nick picks up his phone and gets as far as googling ‘Arizona State Sun Devils Men’s Hockey’, before he swipes the screen away and locks it again.

/

 

Nick hates Greek Life.

Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh.

He just doesn’t like the fact that it’s making his job approximately twenty times harder while he’s putting out the bakery. That, and the fact that he had to show up an extra fifteen minutes earlier, because Mike is learning new ways to torture him.

He’s been here for about a month, and the only other opening shifts he’s worked are the two over last weekend, so sue him if he’s not used to being functional this early. Especially now, where he not only has to be functional, but also has to _spell things._

“Wait,” Nick says for what’s probably the tenth time in twenty minutes. “So the weird A looking thing without the dash--”

“Lambda,” Mike provides, patiently.

“Yeah, that,” Nick says. “That goes next to X?”

“Chi, yeah,” says Mike, laughing a little. “Then the A goes at the end. Lambda Chi Alpha.”

Nick sighs, shaking his head as he arranges the letters. “How do you even remember that?”

Mike laughs, tucks the portafilter into the gasket. “Initiation was… something else, I’ll tell you that much.”

Nick shakes his head, follows his guide sheet of letters that Mike gave him. “If I wanted to get hazed, I would’ve just rushed a frat.”

Mike laughs, and Nick cracks a smile. “As long as you don’t rush Pike.”

“You’re not even speaking English,” Nick grumbles, finally setting the last set of letters out before putting the rest of the letter cookies on a tray, stored under the bakery to fill in as needed.

“That’s the point, it’s _Greek_ ,” Mike says, knocking out the brewed espresso that was in the portafilter. He wipes it out, tucks it back in the gasket and then checks his phone. “Ten minutes ‘til doors. Bakery set?”

“Finally, yeah,” Nick says, tossing his gloves in the trash. “I’ll start coffee.”

“Beauty,” Mike says, then grabs himself a cup and goes to brew his weird grandma’s-purse tea.

It’s quiet for a bit, just the hum of the coffee brewing, but then Mike tosses a pen at Nick and says, “It’s bet day.”

“Bet days are Fridays,” Kyle says before Nick has the chance to. He slides Nick his bagel, and then hops up on the counter.

“Did I stutter?” Mike says, tossing his drink stopper at Kyle. “Anyway. Bet day.”

“Alright, I’m in,” Nick says, taking a drink out of his own coffee. “What’s the bet?”

“Merks, this is probably the one week you _don’t_ want to go for bets with Mike,” Kyle says, mouth full of pumpkin bread, and a strangely serious look on his face.

Nick quirks an eyebrow. “Wait, why no--”

“Not important,” Mike says, tossing at towel at Kyle. Nick has the sneaking suspicion that he’s missing something. “Don’t listen to him. You’re in?”

Nick waffles on it for a second, then sighs. “Yeah, fine. How bad can it be?”

“Rookie mistake,” Kyle says. “I’m out.”

“Weak,” Mike says to Kyle’s retreating back. “Five bucks on which cookies you think Disaster Dylan will pick today.”

Nick looks at the case, at the spread of Greek letters -- which honestly gave him a bit of a headache -- and points to a set. “That one. The weird E looking thing next to the A and the _actual_ E.”

Mike laughs, eyes crinkled at the corners, and nearly chokes on his tea. “You’re a riot, kid, you know that?”

“Shut it,” Nick shrugs, a little sheepish. “What’s your bet?”

Mike walks over to the bakery case, peeks into it and chews on his lower lip.

“Top row, far right,” Mike says. “Phi Gamma Delta.”

“Deal,” Nick says, then shakes Mike’s hand before he goes to unlock the doors.

By the time Dylan walks into the store, Mike has already pulled Dylan’s shots, and his pour over is nearly done dripping. He’s got a purple snapback on, backwards, and a black t-shirt with some kind of writing on the front -- it’s covered by the strap of his hockey bag, so Nick can’t really make it out. It starts with an F, he thinks. Maybe a P.

“Hey,” Nick says, waving from the pour over station. “This is almost done, I’ll be with you when it is.”

“No problem,” Dylan says, distracted by the bakery case. He’s got a small smile on his face, and Nick’s heart does something dumb at the sight of it.

The coffee drips for just a few seconds more before it’s done and Nick is transferring it from the range server to the cardboard cup, then snapping a lid on.

“Got your eye on any specific ones today?” he asks, handing the cup to Dylan. “They’re three-for-two.”

Dylan hums, looks at the cookies again, then points to the rack closest to Nick. “Top row?”

Nick looks, sees which ones he’s pointing at and barely suppresses a groan of defeat. Mike was right.

“Sure thing,” he says instead, punching in Dylan’s coffee and the cookie deal. “Eight ninety-one.”

Nick grabs his tongs and tucks the cookies in a to-go bag as Dylan is swiping his card.

“You’re all set,” Nick says as his screen flashes _transaction approved_. “Have a good one.”

“Thanks,” Dylan says, smile a little wider as he makes a split second of eye contact. Nick can’t help but smile back.

“No problem,” Nick says, and then Dylan’s gone as fast as he was there.

Mike resurfaces from the back room just as the bell on the door chimes, several gallons of milk in his arms.

“I hate you,” Nick says, pulling five dollars out of his wallet.

Mike just smiles, pockets the bill. “Love you too, rookie.”

/

Weekends are a whole different animal at Roadrunners, Nick has come to realize, but for some reason, this weekend is more ridiculous than any other weekend he’s worked before.

There’s crowds of people that will come in at a time, usually in matching colors -- what’s with all the pastel? -- and they’re always picking up a box or two of Joe-To-Go and some ridiculous amount of bakery. There’s _got_ to be some kind of Greek life function happening, because there’s so many foreign characters, and Nick has never seen that much money spent in such a short amount of time, even during the worst of the lunch rushes.

He gets a second to breathe around nine in the morning, just long enough to take a drink of water and stretch his arms out, before the door is chiming again.

“Hey, welcome to Roadrunners,” Nick says, looking up at the guy in front of him. Nick thinks he’s seen him around -- probably from a class or something, which isn’t uncommon. “What can I getcha?”

The guy smiles, and it’s only then that he sees the three guys behind him, all wearing something in that same shade of purple. Another frat, then. “Picking up for Jake,” he says. “Or Jakob. It’s probably Jakob.”

“There are three hundred Jakes or Jakobs on this campus, dude,” one of his buddies says, and Nick just shrugs, agreeing. His friend turns to Nick and grins. “It’s probably under Chychrun. C-h-y.”

“Oh, fuck off, Duke,” Jake says, shoving at him.

Nick laughs a little, bringing up the list of call in orders. “Alright, Jake-or-Jakob,” Nick starts. Behind him, a couple of his tag-alongs laugh as Jake-or-Jakob rolls his eyes. “Three Joe-to-Go’s and approximately…” Nick squints at his screen, “four hundred different pastries. that’ll be ninety-one oh-six.”

“Pretty sweet number, ninety-one,” one of the guys says and --

Wait a minute. Nick knows that voice.

He’d be a little ashamed at how fast his head snaps up if it wasn’t for the grin he was met with.

“Hey, Dylan,” he says, and Dylan smiles a little brighter.

“Jesus, Stromer,” Duke says, “I knew you came here a lot, but I didn’t know it was _that_ often.”

Dylan shrugs, smiles sheepishly and offers Nick a small wave. “That’s how I’m able to crush you in practice,” he says easily. “Coffee here is magic.”

“We do our best,” Nick says, shrugging a little. “Let me grab that stuff for you.”

As Nick is packing up the pastries -- which, like, Jake doesn’t look like the type of guy that’s too enthused about ordering 6 cinnamon rolls, even if they’re not for him -- he hears one of the guys Dylan is with go “Wait, is that the one you’re super--”

“ _Dude_ ,” he hears Dylan say, followed by the distinct _thump_ of someone getting hit in the stomach.

“ _Ouch_ , what the _fuck_ ,” Duke is saying as Nick hands over the first box of pastries. He looks like he just got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and Dylan’s face is a little red. Nick goes to grab the rest of the pastries and pointedly ignores it.

“Children, please,” says another guy, and okay, he wasn’t there before, but Nick definitely recognizes him. He’s also a literature major, different concentration from Nick, but he definitely ran in the same circles as him for a bit there. He’s pretty sure his name is _also_ Dylan.

Anyway, other-Dylan looks a little more official than Nick’s normal Dylan--

Not that Nick’s Dylan is normal. Or his. Look, Lit-Dylan is wearing a frat button down and Disaster-Dylan is wearing a frat polo, that’s what he’s trying to say.

Oh, god. Disaster Dylan is in a frat.

“Have none of these losers paid?” Lit-Dylan asks, breaking Nick from his mini-crisis. He’s shaking his head as he hands Jake a credit card. “No decency, I tell you.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Jake says, taking the card and handing it to Nick. He laughs a little as he swipes it, watching the transaction go through and then hands the receipt to Jake with a pen.

“You guys want anything else?” Nick says, handing over the last box of pastries. “Coffee? Tea?”

Dylan -- regular Dylan, that is -- looks up, eyes meeting Nick’s, and before he could even say anything, Nick already has the cup in his hand, marking the details of Dylan’s usual order onto the paper.

“I’m assuming you want your usual,” Nick is saying as he slides a sleeve onto the cup, sets it next to his register. Behind him, Duke and Jake share a look, eyebrows raised, looking between each other and Dylan. Nick shrugs

“You… might be right,” Dylan says, reaching into his pocket, but Nick waves him off.

“On the house this time,” Nick says, and Dylan smiles. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Thanks, man,” Dylan says, then tosses two dollars in the tip jar anyway.

The cup gets whisked away and so does Dylan. The steady stream of customers coming in, pastries getting boxed, and swiping of credit cards distracts him enough in the time that Dylan’s drink is getting made that he just barely catches Dylan raising his cup in thanks as he and his group leave the store.

/

Just when Nick thought he had enough of Greek Life, he’s proven wrong right before Nick’s shift ends when Duke comes again later that day and makes a beeline for Nick’s register.

“Hey, everything good with the order?” he asks, tilting his head a little.

“What? Oh, yeah,” Duke says, shaking his head, like he’s genuinely confused that would be a concern. “That’s not what I’m here about.”

Nick quirks an eyebrow, smiles a little. “Okay?”

“Well, first things first, can I get one of those mocha frappe things?” Duke says, and Nick laughs a little, grabbing a cup from his stack. He scribbles the drink marking on the cup and sets it next to his register, where a barback takes it almost immediately.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, actually,” Duke says, handing over his credit card. “We’re hosting a party at the house tonight, you should come.”

Nick snuffs a little bit of a laugh as he swipes Duke’s card. “Why?”

Duke looks a little confused as Nick’s handing his card back to him. “Why not?”

“Because I was up really early and that’s not really my scene,” Nick says, maybe a little too honestly. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Duke says. “But I still think you should come.”

Nick sighs, scratching at the back of his neck.

It’s not that he’s entirely adverse to going, okay? It’s just -- okay, now that he knows that Disaster Dylan is in this frat, it’s a little harder to jump at the chance to go be someone other than the person that Dylan barely manages five words to at five o’clock in the morning. He’d have to find something decent to wear, he’d have to try and do _something_ with his hair, he’d have to try and not develop some dumb crush on a guy he barely knows outside of the four walls of this cafe.

“Mocha frappe for Duke at the bar!” Mike calls, interrupting Nick’s train of thought.

“Think about it,” Duke says. “We’re the house in Greek Village with the purple door, you can’t miss it. Bring your girl if you want.”

Nick laughs a little, can feel his cheeks heating. “Yeah, uh,” he says. “Don’t have or want one of those to bring.”

Duke shrugs. “Your boy then,” he says easily. “Or a friend. Point is, you’ve got a standing plus one.”

“I’ll think about it,” Nick says. “Thanks, man.”

“For sure,” he says, then drops two dollars in the tip jar before going to grab his drink.

After the door chimes, Mike comes over and knocks Nick’s elbow. “How do you feel about getting out of here early?”

Nick instantly feels a second wind come over himself. “Great. Fantastic, even,” he says, so quickly he nearly trips over the words.

Mike laughs, punches in his code to open Nick’s drawer.

“Go count,” he says. “Closers should be here any minute.”

“You’re the best,” says Nick, grabbing the till and heading to the back room.

Before Nick’s even all the way in the back, Adrian comes in with Mat and Tito in tow, meaning Mike is off the clock too.

It’s quiet as Mike clicks around on the computer and Nick shuffles through bills and marks them down. Call it a little naive, but Nick is really starting to feel like he’s found his footing here, and that he’s making friends along the way. Like, ‘hang out outside of work’ friends. He got lunch with Capo after one of their shifts last week, and it wasn’t incredibly awful and awkward.

Baby steps.

“Any plans for the night, Nicky?” Mike says, leaning against back in his desk chair.

Nick hums, marks down the amount of singles he counted. “I got invited to a frat party, but I don’t think I’m gonna go.”

“Oh?” Mike says. “Which one?”

Nick shrugs, adding up his total on his phone. “I don’t know. The purple one?”

Mike laughs, a little too loud. “Might be fun, you never know.”

“Eh,” Nick says, handing Mike his post-it of numbers. “I might make an appearance. I’m not really a party kind of guy.”

“You don’t say,” Mike says, and Nick rolls his eyes, shoves his chair as Mike laughs.

“I’ll see you Monday, asshole,” Nick says, heading to the front.

“Have fun, rookie!” Mike calls to Nick’s retreating back, and Nick definitely flips him off because he’s an adult, thank you very much.

/

“What do you mean you’re _not going_?” Kole says, incredulously, as Nick grabs a pack of fruit snacks from the cabinet.

Nick shrugs. “I mean I’m not going,” he says. “Look, it’s great they invited me or whatever, I’m just not into making a fool of myself.”

“Bullshit,” Kole says. “You wore chaps to a dparty this summer. There’s gotta be some different reason.”

“There’s not another reason,” Nick says. “I’m just fuckin’ exhausted. I don’t want to.”

Kole freezes, sits straight up and goes, “There’s a guy, isn’t there?”

Nick’s eyes widen.

The thing is, there isn’t really a guy. Like, sure, Dylan will be there, but if Dylan’s a hockey player, he’ll be hanging around _other_ hockey players. If there are other hockey players, there will be a room full of guys that fit the bill for what defines Nick Merkley’s Taste In Guys: hot, athletic, and maybe a little dumb.

One of them is bound to be even a little bit gay. If he were looking, he’d even go for someone who’s experimenting.

But he’s not looking, because there isn’t a guy.

He’s never been a good liar, not even to himself.

His face is definitely a little red now, and there’s no way he can convince Kole otherwise. Even then, he tears open his fruit snacks and shoves three in his mouth before saying, “What? No, there’s not a guy.”

“You’re such a terrible liar, Merks, really,” Kole says. “We are _so_ going to this party.”

“Who said there was any kind of ‘we’ about this?” Nick says, glaring as best as he can with a mouth full of fruit snacks. He tries to escape as he makes his way to the living room, flopping down on the couch, but Kole follows him.

Kole snorts. “You think I’m going to miss this? Nah, we’re going.”

Nick groans, tipping his head back against the couch. “Fine,” he says. “We’ll make an appearance.”

Kole whoops, and Nick can’t roll his eyes any harder lest they fall out of his goddamn head.

/

Four hours and approximately five outfit changes later, Nick and Kole are making their way up the walkway of a house with a purple door and too many lights flooding out of too many windows.

Nick tries not to sigh, but instead runs his hands through his hair for the umpteenth time since they’ve left the apartment.

“Unclench for maybe thirty seconds,” Kole says, walking up to the door, and then motions for Nick to knock. Nick quirks an eyebrow, because why the fuck should he have to knock, Kole has perfectly capable hands. “Don’t look at me like that, Mr. Personal Invitation.”

Nick does sigh this time, with added eyeroll and knocks three times. The door swings open almost instantly, flooding the front step with light and the thumping of heavy bass.

“Nick!” Duke shouts. “Glad you made it, man. Come on in, let’s get you a drink.”

“They know you by _name?_ ” Kole says as they step inside. Nick elbows him, something he’ll definitely pass off as him trying to squeeze through the crowd.

He keeps his head down as they work through the crowd, figures it’s easier than giving himself away by how he’s definitely looking for Dylan.

They make their way to the kitchen which is crowded with bottles of liquor and various mixers, three tall stacks of red solo cups, already littered with empty beer bottles. Through the patio doors, there’s people jumping in the pool, some in bathing suits and some completely clothed. There’s a beer pong table set up on the pool deck and Nick can’t help but smile at it -- that’s his one saving grace at parties.

“Anthony, by the way,” Duke says, holding his hand out to Kole. “The boys call me Duke.”

“Kole,” he says, shaking Duke’s hand. “Nick’s roommate.”

“Oh, sweet,” Duke says, eyes flicking to Nick for a second. “Well, welcome to Fiji, boys. Make yourself at home. There’s beer in the coolers outside. Feel free to knock Chych down a peg while you’re out there. He thinks he’s the god of beer pong.”

“You shouldn’t have said that to Nicky, here,” Kole says, and Nick has to roll his eyes, maybe a little exaggeratedly. “Canada’s pride and joy of beer pong has decided to grace us with his presence.”

Duke quirks an eyebrow with a tilt of his head. “There’s so much to unpack there, the first being the fact that you’re _also_ Canadian?”

Nick shrugs, smiling a little. “That’s what they tell me.”

“Sick,” Duke says. “Bunch of us are too. Me, namely. But also both of the Raddys, Stromer, Maksi.”

“Unofficial Canadian frat then, eh?” Nick says, laughing a little as Kole pushes a drink into his hand. Nick hadn’t even realized that he disappeared.

“Stromer said the same thing!” Duke says, thumping Nick on the shoulder. “Man, that’s great. Speaking of, I think he and Chych are teaming up for pong right now.”

Nick takes a glance out at the beer pong table where, sure enough, Jake-or-Jakob is definitely standing with Dylan on one end of the table, a pair of blonde girls on the other end.

“Nicky,” Kole says, like it’s obvious that he has to go over there, which it pretty much is. “Let’s go.”

Nick sighs, shakes his head a little, as he takes a sip of the drink Kole got him -- a perfectly mixed rum and coke, his official pre-pong drink.

“Fine,” he says, much to Duke’s amusement and Kole’s excitement. “Let’s do it.”

Duke leads them through the crowd, bro-hugging and clapping people on the shoulders as he goes, very noticeably playing host. It makes Nick wonder, not for the first time, exactly why he’s here.

When the patio doors slide open and he sees Dylan completely miss a shot, he might not know why he’s here, but he’s going to make the most of it.

“Next ups,” Nick and Kole say in unison, just as one of the girls on the opposite team sinks a ball into one of the four cups left.

Jake and Dylan still have all six up on the girl’s side, even after Jake takes another throw. It’s almost too easy.

“Maybe next time,” one of the girls says, just as she sinks another. “I need another drink.”

“ _Lame_ ,” Jake crows, and Dylan boos, but the girls laugh before they finish off the round.

They shake hands -- Jake kisses one of the girl’s hands, and Nick could swear he’s watching some kind of college rom-com with the way this girl tucks her hair behind her ear and smiles -- and then --

“Wait!” Kole says, shocking Nick out of his thoughts. “You’re the same Jake from my econ classes, right?”

Jake blinks, steps back, and then smiles wide. “Holy shit, yeah! What’s good, man?”

It’s weird from there, Nick thinks, because it goes from a bro-hug to Jake and Kole yammering on about some project they’re working on, and then suddenly Nick is without his partner and standing next to Dylan, armed with ping-pong balls against who Nick is assuming are two of Dylan’s frat brothers, judging by the color scheme.

“What just happened?” Dylan says, eyebrows furrowed, but a smile on his face as he looks at Nick.

“No fucking idea,” Nick says, shaking his head with a smile. “Still wanna go?”

Dylan scoffs. “Fuck yeah,” he says, holding his pong ball out to Nick. “Let’s do this.”

Nick taps it, lines up, and sinks the first shot no problem -- back row, center cup, just like he planned. Dylan’s impressed, eyebrows raised as he nods, holding his fist out for Nick to bump before he lines up for his own shot.

Nick does, settles back to watch Dylan line up and take his own shot, impressed as it sinks into the point of the pyramid.

“Shit,” Nick says, holding his fist out to Dylan, who bumps it. “Good shot, dude.”

The other two guys on the end of the table groan, but Nick just smiles.

“Reset?” Nick asks, and Dylan nods.

“What do you want?” one of the guys asks, hands hovering over the cups.

“Diamond,” Nick says, only his voice overlaps with Dylan’s, saying the exact same thing at the same time.

“We’re fucked,” says the partner of the FIJI brother setting the cups up.

Nick smiles, dips his ping pong ball in the cup in front of him and lines up again.

“Here goes nothing,” he says, then takes his shot.

He doesn’t miss Dylan’s impressed whistle as he makes it.

/

After beating the first two guys they face -- another Nick, nicknamed Schmaltzy, and John, who was called Hayds more than anything -- and a couple more drinks, Nick finds himself sitting on the edge of the pool, shoes next to him and feet in the water as other people splash around.

Kole is still nowhere to be found, par for the course when he gets into heated discussions with other econ nerds, so it’s just Nick and his beer until someone else sits down next to him.

“You’re the coffee shop guy,” Dylan says, putting his own feet in the water.

Nick huffs a little laugh, leans back against his hands, taking in the party around him. “That’s me. People also call me Nicholas.” He stops, blinks, and shakes his head. “No, they don’t. I don’t know why I said that. I’m Nick.”

Dylan laughs, just a little, but his eyes crinkle at the corners and Nick can’t help but smile. “Well, nice to meet you when you aren’t forced to be nice to everyone.”

 _I’m actually just nice to you, no need to force that,_ Nick doesn’t say.

“Nice to hear you say more than five words,” Nick says instead, taking a drink of his beer.

Next to him, Dylan squawks indignantly. “I say more than that!”

“‘Hi, this cookie, thank you,’” Nick parrots, bold enough to even give his best Disaster Dylan impression. Dylan laughs, a real laugh this time, and Nick has to laugh with him.

“Oh, fuck off,” Dylan says, swatting at Nick’s arm, and Nick just laughs harder. “I don’t sound like that!”

“Sure, bud,” says Nick, laughing a little.

Dylan goes to say something, before he freezes, eyes wide over Nick’s shoulder.

“What?” Nick asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“I hope you don’t have your phone in your pocket,” Dylan says in a rush, and Nick doesn’t, it’s on the ground right next to him. He’s grateful for the warning -- as strange of one as it is -- because the sentence is barely out of Dylan’s mouth before someone comes behind them and shoves them both forward, crashing through the surface of the water.

The pool isn’t deep where they get pushed in, but it’s definitely a temperature shock from the hot Arizona air. When he comes back up, Dylan is shaking his hair out, swearing in the general direction of Schmaltzy and Hayds where they’re cackling on the deck.

Nick can’t help but laugh, shaking his own hair out before wading over to the side of the pool and boosting himself out. Dylan’s still in the water, crowing at one of his frat brothers, but Nick just laughs and holds out a hand.

Dylan looks up and Nick definitely doesn’t stop breathing when Dylan takes his hand.

Nope. Not at all.

Together they work to get Dylan up and out of the water and by the time they’re safely on the deck Jake has come over with towels. Nick takes one, grateful to get the water out of his face, even if he’s still soaking wet.

“Jesus, I’m sorry,” Dylan says after toweling through his hair. “This was payback for the last mixer where I threw one of their little brothers in. I can’t even remember which one it was.”

Nick laughs, running his towel through his own hair. “Serves you right, then.”

“Oh, for sure,” Dylan says with a shrug.

Before Nick can even process what’s happening, he’s taking off his shirt and wringing it out, and Nick’s eyes may linger a little longer than necessary on the water running down his chest.

Hockey players, man.

“Okay, Stromer!” someone calls, as someone else whistles, snapping Nick out of his daze.

Dylan rolls his eyes, slings his t-shirt and his towel over his shoulder before nudging Nick, breaking his absolute zone out. “Come on, I’ve probably got some stuff you can borrow.“

Nick clears his throat, shakes his head a little, and manages to say something relatively close to the opposite of how he’s feeling: “Okay.”

Going through the house is a bit of a maze, what with the crowds in nearly every corner of every room, but eventually they make their way through a couple thresholds and into a room on the first floor.

Nick goes in first at Dylan’s prompting, leaving the door open as he looks through his drawers.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, pawing through his drawers. “I’m a bit of a disaster.”

Nick tries really hard not to laugh, but manages to keep it together.

The walls are pretty decorated -- a Canadian flag alongside a purple flag with the same letters that Dylan picked out in cookies a few days ago, a couple of snapbacks, some medals and trophies hanging from a shelf that is filled with books. He swears he can see the spine of a T.S. Eliot book, but he’s not sure.

On his dresser, there’s a picture of Dylan maybe three or four years ago, holding a trophy above his head as another boy with strawberry blond hair and big teeth smiles up at him. It’s in a frame and everything.

“Here, these should fit,” Dylan says, handing Nick a pile of clothes. “There’s a bathroom down the hall and to the right.”

Nick takes them, shivering a little in the air conditioning. “Thanks,” he says, then heads to change.

He strips out of his wet clothes and tugs on the dry ones, thankful for the warmth. They also smell really good, which isn’t good for Nick or his unfortunately rapidly developing crush literally at all.

He doesn’t think about it anymore, just tugs on the boxers and basketball shorts that Dylan gave him, wringing his wet clothes out as best as he can over the sink. He still doesn’t know where his phone is, his hair is still dripping a little, and he’s trying really hard not to overreact about the fact that he’s wearing Disaster Dylan’s fucking clothes.

It’s fine. He’s totally fine.

At least he is until he walks out of the bathroom and sees Dylan, who looks unreasonably attractive for someone who’s just in grey sweatpants, a tshirt, and a backwards snapback. It’s not fair, honestly.

“Uh,” Nick says eloquently, hands full of his wet clothes, but Dylan gets the gist.

“I’ll toss them in the dryer with mine,” Dylan says, nodding his head down the hall and taking them out of Nick’s hands. “I’ll be back out there in a sec. Your buddy might need saving from Jake.”

Nick laughs. “Not a chance. He finally found someone who _cares_ about what he yammers on about. That stuff just goes in one ear and out the other with me.”

Dylan laughs, shaking his head as he turns to go down the hall. “Go. I’ll meet you out there.”

Nick goes, turning through the maze of hallways and people before he finds himself out on the deck again. Sure enough, Kole and Jake are still engrossed in some kind of conversation, but it stops as soon as Nick closes the screen door behind himself and heads to grab his phone from the table they’re at.

Kole looks at him, looks at the clothes that Nick was most definitely _not_ wearing when they got there, and his eyes go wide.

“Uh,” he says, eyes saying more than his words. “Hey, Nicky. What’s up?”

“Enjoy your swim?” Jake says, quirking an eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest.

Nick rolls his eyes. “It was delightful, thanks for asking,” he says, thumbing through his phone. He didn’t realize how late it had gotten until just now.

Kole still looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and it isn’t until Nick looks down at the shirt that he’s wearing that he figures out why.

‘Sun Devils Hockey’ is written across his chest in bright yellow letters, and just above that, a small number nineteen on his left shoulder.

That’s… something, that’s for sure.

“We should probably get going,” Kole says as he stands up, a little insistent. Nick quirks an eyebrow. “You’ve got work in the morning, right?”

“Not until nine,” Nick says, a little confused. “What’s the--”

“Jake, it was great talking with you, man,” Kole says, bro-hugging him. “I’ll see you on Tuesday?”

Jake looks about as confused as Nick feels, but he shakes it off as he says goodbye to Kole, then to Nick. “Yeah, for sure. Thanks for coming by, guys.”

It takes Kole grabbing Nick’s arm for him to move, and then they’re heading back out through the house. Nick’s almost lost track of Kole as he goes through the crowd, but manages pretty well until he runs right into someone by the stairwell.

“Woah,” the person says, and Nick barely has a second to look up and confirm that it’s Dylan he ran into. “Are you heading out?”

“Shit, sorry,” Nick says, looking from Dylan to where Kole is standing and looking directly at him, eyes saying ‘let’s _go’_. “Yeah, I’m not sure why? My roommate is being weird.”

“Ah,” Dylan says, looking over at Kole. “Well, hey, thanks for coming. Sorry for the impromptu swimming.”

Nick smiles, looks down a little. “It’s fine. I’ll-- See you around?”

Dylan smiles a little. “Most likely.”

“Cool,” Nick says.

“Merks, we gotta _go_ ,” Kole shouts. Nick rolls his eyes.

“I gotta--” he starts, but Dylan nods.

“Yeah, for sure,” he says. “I’ll see you around.”

Dylan walks the other way, and then Kole is dragging him the rest of the way out of the house.

They’re barely down the front steps before Kole starts laughing.

“ _There isn’t a guy,_ ” he mocks, pulling at the t-shirt Nick is wearing as they head back to their apartment. “Bull-fucking-shit, Nicholas.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “There isn’t,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s just a customer, it’s nothing.”

“Mhmm,” Kole hums. “I’m sure.”

Nick sighs, a little sharp. “I’m serious, dude. It’s -- I’m maybe a little into him, but it’s nothing more than that.”

Kole’s smart, he can read when Nick doesn’t necessarily want to make a big deal out of things, so he drops it.

When they make it home, Nick heads straight to bed, shamelessly still in Dylan’s clothes.

 

/

 

You know the feeling when you really find your groove?

Like, everything is going right, and you’re maybe a little scared that it could blow up at any second, but you’re really just riding the high of everything falling into place.

Work is going well -- Dylan is a little more talkative, and Nick won’t go as far as to say that his transactions are the highlight of his day, but it’s something close -- and school is in a nice enough swing where he feels comfortable, but not too comfortable.

He even managed to save up enough money to maybe go home during American Thanksgiving, since he couldn’t make it home last week for the Canadian one.

(Mike shut down the store and they had a Friendsgiving for all the Canadians that work there. It was nice. Nick made his mom’s apple crumble and only messed it up a little bit.)

Well, that’s all gone to shit. Cue one Nick Merkley, looking up at the gangly hockey player who just set a Roadrunners cup on the desk next to Nick’s.

Like, come on.

He was the one to make that coffee earlier this morning -- he even got to pull the shots, well into the swing of his barista training. He’d know that cup anywhere, just like he’d know that ASU hockey jacket.

“Oh, hey!” Dylan says, setting his stuff down and getting into the chair next to Nick’s. “What’s up, man?”

Nick shakes himself out of the initial shock, finally gets himself back together enough. “Shit, hey. What are you--” wait, Nick is in the right lecture hall, right? “American Poetry, huh?”

Dylan laughs a little. “Yeah. I’m an English minor,” he says, reaching in his backpack, pulling out a worn spiral notebook that looks like it has a minimum of three semesters worth of notes in it. “Bit of a concentration in poetry, but mostly just general English. This seemed like a pretty cool half-semester class.”

Nick looks down at his own brand new notebook that will have notes for this class and this class only, and it makes him smile a little.

“Oh, sweet,” Nick says, a little shocked, but it makes a little bit of sense, what with the Eliot book on his shelf. “Yeah, I needed this one for my degree, but it seemed fun.”

“Lit?” Dylan asks, and Nick nods.

“That obvious?” he says, laughing a little.

Dylan laughs, nudging at Nick’s water bottle where it sits on his desk, one of the only stickers on it proclaiming _I put the LIT in LITERATURE._

“Maybe just a little,” he says, and Nick rolls his eyes.

Class starts pretty soon after, easily transitioning from the ‘what’s your name and major’ to actual class material, and before Nick even realizes, they’re onto the final analysis of a Robert Frost poem before the class ends.

Dylan and Nick were paired together, what with their seating arrangements, and this obviously wasn’t Dylan’s first time analyzing this author.

“The thing with Frost,” Dylan starts, when they’re presenting their analysis for the group discussion, “is that nobody ever knows what the hell he’s talking about.”

The class and the professor all laugh a little, and Dylan shrugs.

“It’s true,” Nick says, leading off of Dylan. “He’s, like, just elusive enough where you _feel_ like you might have some idea of what he’s talking about, but really he’s just pulling the world’s biggest fast one on you.”

“Exactly," says Dylan. "It's a mind maze."

Nick snorts. "Mind maze?"

"Oh, shut up," Dylan says, rolling his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Okay, Robert Frost," Nick says, taking that set up and going top shelf with it.

Laughing a little, the professor wraps the class up and assigns them all a poem to analyze before class meets again in two days.

“Dylan and Nick, you’re not allowed to analyze Frost because that’s obviously too easy for you,” their professor says. “Pick a T.S. Eliot poem, anything but The Naming of Cats.”

“Fair enough,” Dylan shrugs, a bit of a smile on his face. Nick is pretty familiar with Eliot, and he’s got a suspicion that Dylan is too, so this will be pretty easy regardless.

They walk out together, trying to coordinate when they could get this analysis done when --

“You work on Thursdays, right?” Dylan asks, and Nick has to blink and process that for a second.

“Uh, yeah,” he manages, after a second. Does Dylan really know his work schedule? “I think I open.”

Dylan fidgets with the strap of his bag. “Sweet. Wanna meet at the library after your shift? We can just knock this out right away.”

Nick nods, because it’s a decent idea, regardless of the way his heart has started racing a little. “Yeah, for sure. I can meet you there.”

“Sweet,” Dylan says, then stops and reaches in his pocket, pulling out his phone. “Here, let me get your number so I can tell you where I’m at.”

Nick barely even thinks about it as he rattles off his number, then gets the text from Dylan so he has his as well.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Dylan says, nudging Nick’s shoulder with his. “Wanna say two-ish?”

“For sure,” Nick says, saving Dylan’s number. “I’ll shoot you a text when I leave work.”

“See ya then,” Dylan says with a wave, heading down the sidewalk toward the Greek Village.

“Yeah,” Nick says, mostly to himself as he walks toward his apartment. “See ya.”

/

“Say that again _?”_ Kole says, smug as Nick has his face buried in one of their throw pillows that Nick’s mom insisted on them having. “I just want to make sure I heard you correctly.”

“You were _right_ ,” Nick repeats, keeping his eyes closed. “He’s perfect and I’m a disaster with a middle-school crush.”

Kole hums, considering. “You’re meeting him tomorrow? Is it a date or is it--”

“It’s literally just poetry analysis for class,” Nick says. “Because he’s a poetry concentration, therefore something lifted straight out of my tragic straight-boy crush fantasies. Leave me here to fuckin’ die.”

“Okay, first of all, there’s no way he’s completely straight,” Kole says, and Nick can practically hear the eye roll. “Second of all, you’re being dramatic. You’ll be fine. Just, like, act natural.”

“You’re literally no help at all,” Nick says.

“Never said I was going to be,” Kole says. “Just don’t overthink it.”

/

Nick is definitely overthinking it.

“You good, Nicky?” Mike asks, the second time Nick knocks over the cinnamon shaker. “You’re twitchy.”

“I’m not twitchy,” Nick says, but he definitely is. “I’m fine.”

Mike quirks an eyebrow, skeptical. “Sure, bud.”

“I just —“ Nick starts. “I made plans for right after this and I might be over caffeinated. I’m fine.”

Mike laughs a little knowingly.

“Chill out,” Mike says, grabbing a carton of milk from the fridge under the bar. “Make this cappuccino and stop thinking.”

So Nick does.

It’s easy to fall into the rhythm of making drinks, getting corrections from Mike as he does, that he doesn’t even realize it’s nearly time to head out until Mike checks the time.

“Oh, shit,” he says, pocketing his phone. “You’re out of here in ten minutes. Wanna practice anything else?”

Nick hums, considering. He feels pretty solid on everything he practiced today, except maybe getting the bubbles out of hot chocolate after he mixes the powder with milk.

Maybe he could stand to practice one more thing, though.

“I might make myself something,” he says, grabbing a twenty-ounce cup from the register, a portion of blonde roast beans from the pour over station, and his phone from his pocket.

Mike nods, claps Nick on the shoulder and he takes his own apron off and heads toward the break room to grab his stuff.

“Good job today, Nicky,” he says as he opens the door, and Nick can’t help but smile as he heads to pull some shots.

 

**Nick / 1:52p / 19 Oct**

Hey! I’m heading out soon. Do u want a drink??

 

Dylan reads it nearly right away -- because of course he has read receipts on -- and he’s responding as Nick starts blooming the grounds in the filter.

 

**Dylan / 1:53p / 19 Oct**

!!! uhh yeah?? Usual pls?

 

Nick smiles, snaps a picture of the grounds blooming and sends it to Dylan.

**Nick / 1:55p / 19 Oct**

Way ahead of u [smiley face emoji]

 

Dylan heart reacts to the photo, and Nick tucks his phone back in his pocket just as Mike comes back from the back room. He eyes Nick at the pourover station, then looks around the shop, and is confused when he looks back at Nick.

“Is he here?” Mike says as Nick grabs the shots from where they sit freshly pulled on the tray of the espresso machine and dumps them into the cup.

Nick shakes his head, clearing his throat. “Nah, this is for me,” he says.

“Mhmm,” Mike says, rightfully skeptical as Nick doses more water. “I’m so sure.”

Nick doesn’t say anything, just shakes his head as he works on the drink, finishing it up and snapping a lid on it.

“See ya,” Nick says as he punches out, heading toward the door.

“Tell Dylan I say hi!” Mike calls back. Nick flips him off and is met with Mike’s laughter as he walks out.

/

“So I’ve got some ideas,” Dylan says, almost as soon as Nick sets the cup on the table he’s camped out at in the library. He’s paging through a really worn out copy of ‘The Poems of T.S. Eliot’, flipping past sticky notes and annotated pages. “But there’s one in here that I haven’t really touched yet. I’m trying to find it.”

Nick hums an acknowledgement, setting his stuff down and pulling out his American poetry notebook.

“Yeah, good luck with that,” he says, sitting down in the chair next to Dylan. He almost opted for the one across from him, but he’s going to listen to Kole for once, and not overthink things.

Dylan slides the book over, worn spine split open to a page with a dog-ear, but only three or four underlined words.

“I’ve read through it a few times, but I can’t really draw anything from it, you know?” Dylan says, and Nick both ‘knows’, but also feels like he doesn’t know a single fucking thing at all, not with Dylan this close to him, talking about analyzing poetry in his spare fucking time.

He’s real, right? This feels imaginary.

Eventually Nick gets his thoughts together enough to offer something about a line or two, and then from there it’s easy to fall into the push and pull of dissecting the lines.

Easy enough that Nick loses track of time, and has no idea how long they’ve been there until he realizes that the sky is starting to turn orange outside, and Nick’s maybe getting a little hungry.

“I think that’s it, honestly,” Dylan says, putting the finishing marks on the copy of the poem they printed out. “I don’t know about you, but I’m starving.”

Nick agrees, so they pack up and end up at a little diner at the very edge of campus. If Nick wasn’t already stupidly into Dylan, the fact that he ordered chocolate chip pancakes and a cookie dough milkshake really just sealed the deal.

Dinner is easy, and Nick learns a little more about Dylan -- he’s from the GTA, he’s got two brothers, both of whom go to school in Canada, and he’s played hockey nearly his whole life. He even goes as far as to say that he would’ve been a straight-up English major had he not been concerned about ‘practicality’.

Nick tells the same things, really. Things that are easy to talk about, like his family, or hockey, or home. They spend a significant amount of time waxing poetic about their respective hockey teams, Dylan talks a little about the school’s team, and Nick realizes just how much he misses it.

“Serious question though,” Dylan says, taking a sip of his milkshake.

“Hit me,” Nick says between fries.

“How much do you miss snow,” Dylan asks, straight faced, arms crossed, until he breaks into a smile.

Nick sighs, exaggeratedly wistful.“More than anything on the planet.”

Dylan laughs, and Nick can’t help but laugh with him, cheersing his milkshake to Dylan’s.

/

So, that’s how it starts, their Thursday study dates.

Not that they’re dates. Or that either of them have to do _too_ much studying, since this class has come pretty easily to both of them.

Look, they spend a lot of Thursdays in the library, and then at Norm’s, okay?

Nick also spends a lot of time willing the stupid butterflies in his stomach to just fucking chill for maybe three seconds.

A few Thursdays after their first, Nick shoots Dylan a text before he leaves work asking if he wants a coffee -- even though the answer is usually always yes -- but this time, he doesn’t get a text but his phone ringing in his hand instead.

He fumbles a little as he slides to answer, but eventually gets a grip.

“Hey, what’s up?” Nick asks, punching in his code and clocking out before heading into the break room.

“Hey,” Dylan says, and he sounds tired. Nick has a feeling it’s not the tired that can be fixed with sleep. “How are you feeling about the Poetry midterm?”

Nick blinks, thinks a little. “I mean, fine. More than fine, really. Why?”

“Do you wanna skip the library today and just go right to Norm’s?” Dylan asks, like it’s even hard for him to admit that he doesn’t want to study first. Nick wouldn’t put it past him.

Still, Nick hums in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds good with me,” he says, then after a beat, “Is everything okay?”

Dylan sighs, a whoosh of breath into the phone. “Yeah, I’m just fried,” he says, a little bit of a laugh in his tone. “I’ll meet you there in twenty?”

Nick nods, forgetting Dylan can’t hear that, and then agrees. “For sure. I’m leaving work now, so I’ll just head straight there.”

“Cool,” Dylan says, sounding a little lighter than before. “See you soon.”

The line disconnects and Nick grabs his hoodie from the hook, and heads out of the break room, waving to Mike where he’s at the bar as he heads toward the door.

“Not seeing Dylan today?” Mike asks, noting that Nick doesn’t have a cup with him.

“No, I am, we’re just--” Nick starts, but cuts himself off.

See, like. The thing is that while he has been more friendly with Dylan when he comes in, going as far to mention the class they have together, Thursdays were their thing that he hadn’t really mentioned. He knew he’d take relentless shit for it if he did, sure that his crush is visible from outer space at this point.

“ _Hah!_ ” Mike says, already proving said point. “I _knew_ those Dylan drinks weren’t for you, you little sneak. When did this happen?”

Nick stops, quirks an eyebrow. “When did _what_ happen?”

“Don’t play stupid, Nicky,” Mike says, nonchalant as he grabs a cup from Tito at the register and heads back to the espresso machine. “How long have you two been dating?”

Nick freezes, eyes as wide as they can go, and he can feel the tips of his ears start to go pink.

“It’s gotta be a couple weeks now, right?” Mike goes on, moving to pull a few shots. “With your little Thurs-dates.”

“You literally have no idea what you’re talking about,” Nick manages, and he hates that the confusion in his voice sounds like anger, especially judging by the look on Mike’s face. Still, he sighs, a little sharp and says, “I’m not dating him, okay?”

“Woah, sorry,” Mike starts, holding his hands up. “I didn’t mean to push a button.”

Nick sighs, scrubs a hand at his face. “No, I’m sorry,” he says, taking a deep breath, coming back behind the counter again, leaning against the bar. “I guess it’s just-- I don’t know. I wouldn’t mind if they were dates.”

Mike hums, finishes the drink he was making, turning back to Nick after he calls it out.

“Have you told him that?” Mike asks, and Nick shrugs.

“Not in so many words,” he says. “Or at all.”

“Gotta start somewhere,” Mike says, untying his apron after checking his watch. “Get out of here, ya crazy kid.”

Nick smiles a little, says his goodbyes to his coworkers and starts the walk to Norm’s.

It’s not too long of a walk, but there’s a bit of a breeze for once, and the air is chilly despite the sun, which has Nick tucking his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. It’s as fall as it can be when the only trees around are those of the palm variety.

He misses crunchy leaves and the tip of his nose being cold, and wonders if Dylan does too, wonders if that’s why he sounds so tired.

And like. Nick has noticed that Dylan’s been a little more subdued lately, like there’s something going on, but it’s hard to have deep conversations over assigned poetry analysis or coffee shop pleasantries.

Also, that casual mention to Mike was the first time he’s actually told someone other than Kole about his dumb hopeless crush on Dylan, and that makes it even more real. Even with the occasional shared milkshake at diner counters or leaned-into spaces in library corners, it never felt like something worth mentioning.

Now though, with Mike commenting about it, it might just be a little worth mentioning.

Not to Dylan though, and that’s solidified when he walks into Norm’s with a wave to the hostess, spotting Dylan at their usual table.

He looks more tired than usual, a little worn down under the huge hoodie he’s wearing, but his face brightens as soon as he sees Nick.

Which, that’s… something.

Instead of thinking about it, he slides into the booth on the opposite side of Dylan, kicking his shin lightly under the table.

Nick can’t even say real words in greeting before Mario is bouncing over, notebook in hand.

“You boys are here early today,” he says, almost genuinely confused. “Usuals all around?”

Dylan smiles a little, a hint of it reaching his eyes before he shrugs. “Skip the pancakes, but extra whip on the milkshake today, please.”

“Rough day, got it,” Mario says, jotting it down on his notepad. “What about you, sweetheart?”

Nick considers for a second, then shakes his head. “Same as him, but a large fry as well, please.”

“Throwin’ a curveball at me, I see,” Mario says. “That’ll be right out.”

Mario heads back to give the order to the kitchen and Dylan scrubs a hand at his face before resting his cheek on his hand.

“You good?” Nick asks, even though he’s pretty sure of the answer. “You seem a little--” he waves his hand absently -- “out of it.”

Dylan shrugs, smiles a little tired. “Lots of stuff going on, is all. I’m okay.”

“Anything I can help with?” Nick offers, but Dylan shrugs.

“Unless you want to run for the president of FIJI, not really,” he says. “But I appreciate it.”

“Wait, president?” Nick says, and Dylan shrugs, a little bit of a smirk on his face. “That’s so cool though, holy shit.”

“Thanks,” he says, and he sounds genuine. There’s even a hint of that eye-crinkling smile that Nick has come to love. “But yeah, Larks -- he’s our president now, but we just learned he’s graduating in December. I’m already VP, so it’s not like it’s some crazy thing that just got sprung on me, but it’s --” he stops, scrubs a hand over his face. “It’s a lot of work, on top of midterms and hockey and all of that.”

“Shit, dude,” Nick says. “Well, you could’ve fooled me that you were going through all that.”

“Don’t even,” Dylan says, looking down, a little bashful.

Nick snorts. “No, I’m serious. You mostly gave off the impression that you had your shit together, so this is impressive.”

Dylan tilts his head, looks at Nick skeptically. “You’re sweet, but I know Mike calls me Disaster Dylan.”

That definitely gets Nick to laugh. “How do you know that?”

“Well, for starters, you didn’t deny it,” he says, and Nick shrugs a laugh. “Second, he’s actually part of my frat lineage. His little brother is my big brother.”

Nick blinks. “Cool. Now tell me what that means in not-frat words.”

Dylan laughs, and it’s the first real smile Nick has seen from him since they sat down, but he does take the time to explain things.

And the thing is, Nick doesn’t know why he’s so stressed about this, because he’s so passionate about it. He knows next to nothing about Greek life, but the way that Dylan’s talking about this -- with his hands and everything -- he would definitely vote for him.

Is there even voting?

Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Dylan looks significantly less stressed than he sounded on the phone and Nick would love to be the person who can do that for him on the daily.

“You really care about this stuff, huh,” Nick says, and Dylan shrugs, a little sheepish. “It’s not a bad thing, it’s nice to see you so into something.”

Dylan smiles, scratches at the back of his neck. “They’re my family, as cheesy as it sounds. I think they took, uh --” He stops, takes a sip of his water. “They took me coming out easier than some of my _actual_ family.”

Nick freezes, willing his face to something neutral, and gets it together enough to nod. “I’m glad you have that. Coming out fucking sucks sometimes.”

Dylan looks up a little quick at that, then clears his throat, looking like he was going to say something, before Mario interrupts, setting their order in front of them.

He definitely dips fries into his milkshake, which would make sense if it was a chocolate shake, but it’s a cookie dough one. Unfortunately, that doesn’t make Nick any less into him.

Neither of them bring up the interrupted conversation again, instead naturally moving on to Nick’s day at work, where he gladly obliges Dylan in the topic of regulars who are much more of a disaster than he is.

“There’s no way that’s real,” Dylan is saying. He’s got a little whipped cream on his nose and Nick could honestly die.

Instead, he nods. “Extra large, extra hot, decaf almond milk latte with almond syrup,” he repeats, mimicking the rude tone of the man who always orders it. “And he’s always like, ‘are you sure this is decaf?’ Like, no, I’m going to give you something other than what you paid for.”

Dylan shakes his head. “That’s _so_ much, oh my god.”

Eventually, they’ve been loitering long enough that Mario gives them the check, a subtle ‘it’s almost dinner rush and you guys gotta go’, so Nick picks up the tab, tossing a couple bills on the table, despite Dylan’s protests.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, reluctantly tucking his own wallet back in his pocket as he slides out of the booth.

Nick shrugs, standing and heading toward the door with Dylan. “Good thing I wanted to, then.”

They make the walk back toward the street where they usually part in silence-- halfway between Greek village and Nick’s block -- when Dylan breaks the silence, clearing his throat.

“Thanks for tonight,” he says, like he was worried Nick would’ve been adamant about studying. Get real. “I really needed this.”

“Dude, of course,” Nick says, nudging Dylan with his shoulder. “Anytime.”

It’s quiet for a beat, but then Dylan kicks at a rock, tucks his hands in his pockets and says, “hey, so, question.”

“Hey, so, answer,” Nick says as they come to a stop on their usual corner.

Dylan rolls his eyes. “Our halloween mixer is this weekend,” he says, “and you now have a personal invitation.”

“I could maybe swing it,” Nick says, smiling a little. “Costumes?”

“You know it,” Dylan says, nodding seriously. “Maybe wear a bathing suit, just to be safe.”

Nick laughs, remembering the first party _vividly_. “Shit, I still have your clothes.”

Dylan shrugs. “They look better on you. See you Saturday?”

“Uh,” Nick manages. “Yeah, for sure.”

“Sweet,” Dylan says, smiling bright, and the sun is making his eyes look golden. “See ya, Nicky.”

Nick can barely manage a goodbye before Dylan’s turning down his block, but he’s a little warmer despite the chill for the rest of his walk home.

//

So, they’re friends now, which is pretty cool. Dylan even hangs around Roadrunners the next day, making up for not studying the day before. It’s slow, so he spends his time quizzing Nick on things while Nick makes him try increasingly outrageous latte flavors.

Even the coconut milk matcha latte with mocha syrup, which Dylan didn’t even hate and Nick was almost disgusted with.

Mike only scolds Dylan for distracting his employees once, so it’s pretty much a win.

Eventually, Dylan has to go, but he makes sure to remind Nick of the mixer before he heads out, and Nick gets an interesting look from Mike as soon as Dylan is out of the shop.

“You’re going to the FIJI halloween mixer, huh?” he says, leaning against the counter and taking a sip of his mug.

Nick shrugs. “I mean, yeah. I like halloween, Dyl invited me. It seems like fun.”

“‘I’m not really the party type’,” Mike mocks, pitching his voice too high to even be a good impression of Nick at all. “What happened to that Nick?”

Nick rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling as he goes back to making himself a less disgusting yet still adventurous latte. “He had fun at the last party?”

Mike laughs, clapping Nick on the shoulder before heading back toward the office without another word.

/

By the time Nick shows up to the FIJI house, clad in his T-Birds leather jacket -- which is definitely embroidered and only two halloweens old, thank you -- the party is in full swing. He doesn’t bother knocking, just opens the purple door and lets himself in, a little relieved that Jake, who’s dressed as Waldo, and Chucky, who’s some kind of alien thing are the ones manning the door.

“Nicky!” Jake crows, pulling him into a bro hug. “Stromer told me he invited you. Glad you could make it.”

Nick claps him on the back a couple times, then moves to do the same with Chucky, both times not at all subtle in the way he scans the room. “Thanks for having me. Have you see him around?”

Jake shrugs. “I think he was in the kitchen last I saw, but no promises.”

Nick thanks him, then makes his way through the crowded hallways to the kitchen, grabbing himself a cup once he gets there.

It isn’t long after he makes his drink, taking in the atmosphere of the room when someone lays a heavy hand on his shoulder that, frankly, freaks him out a little.

Well, until he turns and sees that it’s Dylan, who’s wearing a police hat and a shirt that’s too tight for Nick’s own good. Then he’s not so much freaked out as he is stressed for his fucking life.

“Gotcha,” he says, peeking over the top of his aviator sunglasses with a smirk.

“I surrender,” Nick says, holding his free hand and his drink up. “I admit it.”

Dylan laughs, taking off the glasses and tucking them into the v of his shirt made by maybe one too many buttons being undone. Nick tries not to look too hard for too long, but he did have a pregame drink before he got here, so sue him if he looks a little longer than he usually would.

“Got your drink?” he asks, nodding toward Nick’s cup, and Nick nods. “Cool. Let’s go kick some ass.”

Before he knows it, Dylan and Nick have taken down nearly every pairing they face in beer pong, too many of the brothers calling to change the game to flip cup.

“And the lovebirds can’t be on the same team!” Duke says, pointing at Dylan and Nick. “Matter of fact, I call Nicky. He’s ours now!”

“Lovebirds?” Nick says, quirking an eyebrow, and even on the barely lit back patio, he can see where Dylan’s cheeks have gone a bit pink. He tries not to think about it.

“They’re full of shit,” Dylan says, but pushes Nick toward Duke anyway. “Fine. But then I get Gally _and_ Perls.”

“Fine,” Duke says, pulling Nick to his side of the table, and at the sound of a whistle from someone in a ref costume, they’re off.

The way things shake up have Nick against Dylan at the very end of the pretty long table of people, because of course it does.

In the end, Dylan’s due for his turn before Nick is, but Nick catches up with a come from behind win, his cup landing on the table maybe half a second before Dylan’s does.

Everyone on Nick’s side of the table cheers, crowding around him, and he’s pretty sure he hears a couple people ask why he isn’t in a frat in the first place.

After he makes it out of the circle surrounding him, Dylan’s waiting with his arms crossed but a smile on his face and Nick would be amused if it weren’t for the fact that his arms look downright obscene like that, and he’s a little distracted.

“Alright, hotshot,” he says. “What can’t you do?”

Nick shrugs, taking a drink from his cup, still getting some celebratory back claps. “I still can’t get the bubbles out of hot chocolates.”

Dylan laughs, shaking his head before draining his bottle. “Wanna head in?”

And, yeah, Nick kind of does. Not even the left over warmth from the sunset can get rid of the chill in the air, so he nods, following Dylan in.

When they get in, the kitchen is mostly empty, most of the noise coming from the general direction of the patio and the lounge area. Nick hops up onto a clear part of the counter as Dylan gets himself another beer, cracking it open and taking a long drink from it, tossing the bottle cap on the counter next to Nick.

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” Dylan says, laughing a little, leaning against the counter next to him.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Nick says, holding his drink up in cheers before taking another drink of it. It’s not as strong as he’d like it to be, but it feels nice, riding the easy buzz of the beer from the flip cup game and his pregame shots with Kole.

“Didn’t bring your Sandy with you, Danny Zuko?” Dylan asks, a little tight, before taking another drink of his beer.

Nick huffs a laugh, then deflects. “We all know there was something happening with Kenickie, don’t even front.”

Dylan laughs at that, bright and a little breathy and Nick smiles at the sound of it.

“Well, whatever,” Dylan says, still smiling. “Point is, it’s just you?”

Nick nods. “Just me.”

“Cool,” Dylan says, a little lamely, and Nick has to laugh at that.

“Cool? It’s cool that I came by myself?” he says, nudging Dylan maybe a little harder than necessary, laughing as he sways maybe a little too far. Nick reaches out, tugging at his arm to get him back, and maybe he overcompensated on just how far away Dylan swayed, because they’ve kind of crashed together and now he’s _very_ close and looking at Nick with the smallest smile on his face and --

“Uh,” Nick says, hand still on Dylan’s arm, and now Dylan’s other arm is on Nick’s knee, and when did he get between Nick’s legs?

“Is this--” Dylan breathes, hand twitching like he’s not sure if he wants to move it or not. Nick hopes he doesn’t. “I mean, uh, can I--”

Nick licks his lips, nods, and he just barely catches Dylan’s smile before that same smile is pressed against his own.

It’s soft and a little tentative at first, and Nick feels like his heart is trying to beat clean out of his chest, but it’s also perfect in every way, especially as Dylan’s hand slides to his hip when Nick brings his own hand up to cup Dylan’s cheek.

Eventually, Nick’s lungs ache and he has to pull back to catch his breath, but it’s worth it when he sees Dylan’s face, cheeks dusted pink and lips shiny where they’re pulled into a smirk.

“Not that I want to stop doing this,” Nick says, observing that he’s still most definitely on their kitchen counter, where anyone could walk in and see them, “but maybe we can keep doing it somewhere else?”

“Trying to get me to take you to bed, Nicky?” Dylan says, squeezing Nick’s hip before he presses a quick kiss to his lips. Nick hums, smiling too much to make it a proper kiss, but still nudges at Dylan’s hip with his leg, moving to get down from the counter. This may not be the best decision he’s made, but he’s not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“You don’t even need to take me,” he says, maybe a little too honest. He starts backwards toward the same hallway Dylan took him down the last time, shrugging. “I’ll take myself.”

Dylan shakes his head, scrubs a hand at his face, and follows, taking Nick’s hand as they wind through the corridors. As soon as they’re in Dylan’s room, door shut behind them, Nick’s being pressed against it, Dylan’s lips on his neck and he’s starting to think this is a little too good to be true.

“Come on,” Nick says, both tilting his head at the feeling and trying to push Dylan toward his bed. “Less vertical.”

Dylan huffs a laugh against his skin and moves, tugging Nick with him until they fall into Dylan’s bed, fall into each other. Nick has lost track of time, honest to god lost in the feeling of Dylan nearly on top of him, and he’s getting a little too warm in his jacket, but not enough to care, not enough to stop and move.

He hums when Dylan nips at his lower lip, hands tightening around his arms, pulling him impossibly closer, and he’s about to say fuck it and take off his goddamn jacket when there’s a pounding at the door.

Dylan jumps back at the sound, more frightened than anything, but he’s still significantly draped over Nick. “What?” he calls toward the door.

“We’ve got a situation,” someone calls through the door, and Dylan sighs, setting his forehead against Nick’s for a second, and Nick can’t help but laugh a little. “Mostly involving an asshole Delta Sig who invited himself.”

“Jesus,” Dylan says, exasperated, pressing a quick kiss to Nick’s lips. “Where’s Larks?” he calls toward the door.

“Already trying to talk to him,” the voice calls. “He told me to get you.”

“Go, future mister president,” Nick says, pushing Dylan up a little, but he looks genuinely conflicted as if he wants to leave or not.

“Gimme a sec,” Dylan calls, rolling his eyes as he pushes up and off of Nick. The stress from earlier this week is creeping back into his shoulders, the easy buzz of the night gone almost instantly. “Not that I want to stop doing this, but this might take a second, especially if it’s the guy I think it is.”

Nick pushes himself up, shrugging a little, a lot less bummed than he thought he’d be. “I can hang here, or I can go. Either is okay with me.”

Dylan looks relieved, holding his hand out, so Nick pushes himself out of bed and takes it. “This might be things wrapping up, knowing Larks. We don’t stand for this shit.”

He looks frustrated, and there’s loud talking on the other side of the door, so Nick squeezes his hand.

“It’s okay, Dyl,” he says, and he means it. “I can just head out. No big deal.”

“You’re too good,” Dylan says, kisses Nick hard before squeezing his hand and heading toward the door. “Text me when you’re home? Please?”

Nick’s heart swells a little, and he nods. “Promise.”

“For fucks sake, Stromer!” the guy is saying, pounding a couple more times before Dylan swings the door open, pulling him and Nick through and closing it behind them.

“When you get home,” Dylan says, squeezing his hand.

“When I get home,” Nick promises. “Go.”

Dylan goes, and Nick makes his way through the hallways, less crowded now that people have started to clear out. He’s a little curious, but not curious enough to stick around, so he does just head home, welcoming the breeze on his overheated skin.

He can still feel Dylan’s lips on his neck, the easy pressure of Dylan’s body over his, and how he didn’t really taste too much of alcohol. He can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this happened because it was supposed to, not because of liquid luck.

He’s still thinking about it when he gets home, hanging his keys and heading toward his room, shooting Dylan a text as he closes his door.

 

**Nick / 1:52a / 27 Oct**

[house emoji] everything ok?

 

Dylan reads it pretty fast, and by the time Nick comes back to his room after using the bathroom, he’s got three new messages.

 

**Dylan / 1:54a / 27 Oct**

ya, this dude was just high out of his skull and thought he was drowning

he def wasnt. he was on the deck.

and some dude threw a drink in his face so drowning ig.

 

Nick can’t help but laugh as he climbs into bed, even though he know this has to be frustrating for Dylan. It’s still kind of funny.

 

**Nick / 1:56a / 27 Oct**

Lololol. Well, glad ur good :)

 

**Dylan / 1:58a / 27 Oct**

:) had fun tonite.

sorry u had to go :(

 

**Nick / 1:59a / 27 Oct**

me too :( but seriously its ok. stop by RRs tomo? Drink on me.

 

**Dylan / 2:00a / 27 Oct**

def. I’ve got a thing in the library tmrrw afternoonish but i should be able to get there after.

 

**Nick / 2:01a / 27 Oct**

perf. night :)

 

Dylan’s heart reaction is the last thing he sees before his eyes slide shut.

 

/

Okay, so maybe he should’ve looked a little harder in a mirror last night, because if he had, he wouldn’t be dealing with Kole pointing out --

“You have a _hickey_ ,” he says, poking at Nick’s neck when he comes into the kitchen. “What the fuck did you get up to last night?”

Despite the small smile on his face, Nick can feel his cheeks heating, suddenly very interested in his bowl of cereal. “Don’t worry about it.”

Kole snorts. “Mhmm. Not gonna work on me, Merkley. Who’s the culprit?”

“I’d love to tell you, but I’m going to be late for work,” Nick says, taking the last bite of Cinnamon Toast Crunch and downing the milk as he gets up to put his bowl in the sink.

“You work ten minutes away!” Kole says. “Just tell -- Wait.”

“What?”

“You were at FIJI last night,” Kole remembers. “Nick, oh my god. Oh my _god_ , please tell me it was D--”

“Bye, Lindy!” he says, grabbing his keys and making an exit before he can hear anything else on the situation.

Work is much of the same treatment he got from Kole, and he’s grateful Mike is off today so he’s not getting it from _him_ too.

Raised eyebrows and smirks aside, the workday flies by pretty quickly, and before he knows it, he’s being told to clock out.

He checks his phone, and isn’t surprised there isn’t anything new in his text thread with Dylan. If it was a big enough deal to be at the library on a Sunday, then he’s probably just super concentrated.

Making his drink is almost second nature at this point, so he’s out of there soon enough and on his way to the library. He maybe also snagged a ‘broken’ cookie.

He’s maybe still riding the high of last night, okay?

Dylan is a creature of habit, so Nick knows exactly where he’s going to be in the library -- third floor, right side, right by the window -- so when he turns the corner to get to Dylan’s spot, he’s expecting half of what he’s met with.

That half would be Dylan surrounded by textbooks, leaning over his notebook, afternoon sun hitting his face.

What he wasn’t expecting was the guy sitting next to Dylan, looking at him like he hung the moon, leaning into his space and a hand on his arm.

He doesn’t drop the coffee in his hand, but it’s a near thing, the cookie falling instead. That’s when Dylan looks up, confused at first, and then -- probably after seeing the hurt Nick is sure is on his face -- worried.

“Hey,” Nick manages, a little quiet, which is when the guy next to him looks up. His hand is on the table next to Dylan’s arm, and his eyebrows are raised, as if he’s offended that Nick would interrupt.

“Nicky--” Dylan starts, but Nick just shakes him off and smiles, small and tight and not at all genuine.

“Thought I’d just drop this off for you,” he says, alarmed at how easy switching to his work voice was as he sets the cup and the pastry bag on the table. “I’ll see you later.”

“Nick,” Dylan says, a little more insistent.

“I gotta go,” he says. “Study hard.”

He’s a little proud of how he doesn’t turn around as he leaves the library, even when Dylan calls his name again.

/

So, he goes home, leaves his phone in his bedroom and absolutely crushes approximately six rounds of Fortnite duos with Kole.

He’s a true bro, especially in the way he didn’t ask what was wrong when Nick came home and was too angry for words, just grabbed a controller and tossed it to him without a word.

By the time they wrap the game up, the sun is down and they’re hungry, but it’s Nick’s turn to cook and that’s not going to happen, so he orders pizza from their favorite place and kills that before turning in for the night.

Crawling into bed, Nick turns his phone off of airplane mode and ignores the text from Dylan that comes in.

He doesn’t get much sleep, anyway.

/

Work the next morning isn’t the best, but it isn’t awful either because it’s the distraction he needs.

Well, it is, until the reason he needs a distraction is walking down the sidewalk in the general direction of the front door.

Great.

“Can I take ten?” Nick asks Mike as he walks through.

Mike quirks an eyebrow, but nods. “Sure, Nicky. You okay?”

Nick shrugs, scrubs a hand over his face. “Yeah. Just gotta sit for a second.”

The door chimes just as Nick shuts the door to the break room, resting his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands and just lets himself breathe.

This could just be one big misunderstanding. Nick could be reading the entire situation wrong and just over reacting to all hell. But maybe it was naive of him to think that the kiss at the party was anything more than A Kiss At A Party, but it just --

It felt different.

Now it just feels awful.

It’s only been about five minutes, but the odds of Dylan still being in the store are slim, so he bucks it the fuck up and leaves the break room, putting on a brave face.

When he takes his place at the bar again, Mike looks more confused than usual, and he’s got a book in his hands.

“This is for you, I guess?” Mike says, handing it over, and Nick almost doesn’t take it, but Mike looks at him, and decides not to test it.

It’s Nick’s copy of a collection of poems by Ella Wheeler Wilcox, except there’s a pink post-it flag sticking from the top of it that wasn’t there before.

“Go on break,” Mike says. “For real this time.”

Nick looks up and he’s sure that Mike knows at least a little bit of what’s going on, so he’ll take the out.

He heads out to the patio, opens to the page with the flag -- “It Might Have Been”, one of the first poems Nick ever read of hers -- and finds a bigger post-it with Dylan’s awful chicken scratch on it.

 

_I’m done saying ‘it might have been’._

_Meet me at Norm’s after work?_

_-D_

 

He sighs, reads the poem over and over, as if he couldn’t recite it by memory before shutting the book and taking a deep breath. It doesn’t take an expert poetry analyst to understand what Dylan’s trying to hint at here.

Well, then. Guess the party kiss wasn’t just A Party Kiss.

He takes a walk for the rest of his break, getting back with a clearer head and looking at the situation a little more logically.

Plus, his heart might be a little weak about the fact that Dylan used Nick’s favorite poet to reach out.

It’s the little things.

 

/

Dylan’s already in their booth when Nick gets to Norm’s, and he only hesitates a little before sliding in. Dylan looks up, like he’s surprised Nick even showed, and any anger Nick had about the situation is gone the second he sees the look on his face.

“I got you an apology milkshake,” Dylan says, tearing at the napkin by his hands.

Nick smiles a little. “Did you get something?”

Dylan shakes his head. “Wasn’t feeling it.”

“You’re always feeling milkshakes,” Nick says, flagging Mario down. “He’s being a sad-sack.”

“One bad day milkshake coming up,” Mario says, tossing a wink to them before heading off.

“There,” Nick says. “I got you an apology milkshake, too.”

“Nicky--” Dylan starts, but Nick just kicks at his foot under the table.

“I don’t even know what I saw, and I just overreacted and didn’t let you explain,” Nick says, just as Mario comes through with their shakes. He raises his, holds it out to Dylan who clinks his against Nick’s. “So, I’m sorry, too.”

Dylan sighs, and it’s like all the tension is gone from his body, even a bit of a smile coming to his lips before he takes a drink of his shake.

“He’s from my business class,” Dylan starts, setting his glass down, and he’s got this annoyed look on his face. “He’s been into me all semester, always trying to make a move, but I was never into him. You caught him asking me if I had a good weekend.”

Nick nods, sniffs a laugh. “Did you?”

“No complaints,” Dylan says, hooking his foot around Nick’s ankle under the table, and Nick can basically hear the smirk in his voice.

It’s quiet for a beat, just them sipping on their shakes until --

“So, it’s not really a secret that I’m into you,” Dylan says, suddenly. “And I have been for a while. And I’m really hoping I’m not making a complete idiot of myself by admitting that, but--”

Nick has to laugh at that, cutting Dylan off.

“The only way you’d make an idiot of yourself is by thinking I’m not into you,” Nick says. “Unless you’ve just been living under a rock for the last few months.”

Dylan smiles -- a real one, finally -- and looks down at his shake. “Call me Patrick Star, I guess.”

Nick blinks. “You’re kidding right? Dyl, there’s no way you’re _that_ oblivious.”

“I thought you were just being _nice!”_ he says, a little high pitched, a little frazzled.

“If you think I’m anywhere near as nice to other customers as I am to you,” Nick says, “then you’re so fucking wrong.”

Dylan laughs, and Nick could hear that sound every day for the rest of forever, he thinks.

They finish their shakes and head out, but when they get to their usual corner, Dylan takes Nick’s hand and they keep walking, away from Greek Village and toward Nick’s apartment.

“Was this our first date?” Nick asks, locking Dylan’s fingers with his. “Just so I know.”

Dylan laughs, squeezing Nick’s hand in his own as they turn down Nick’s street. “If you want it to be.”

His chest feels warm in all the right places, not even the fall chill pulling it from him. There might not be crunchy leaves on the ground, but this feels like every perfect fall day that Nick ever had back home. It’s centering and grounding and makes him feel like he’s looking at a perfectly colored sunset.

“Yeah,” he says, “I’d love that.”

When they get to his door and Dylan kisses him on the front stoop, he can’t help but lean into the perfect fall day feeling just a little more.

/

So the last few weeks have been fun with this whole ‘dating Dylan’ thing.

It’s even more fun when Dylan gets some of his fraternity brothers to help in asking Nick to their winter formal, which is going to be exciting no matter what.

(Dylan keeps saying that there’s a surprise, but he fails to remember that Nick is smart and Dylan’s had a bit of a pep in his step recently. A presidential pep, if you will.)

Anyway, exams have blown them all through hell -- Roadrunners made even more cash by extending their hours and offering free refills on drip coffee for students -- and it’s nearly winter break and before he can even catch his breath, Nick’s in a suit and a bowtie and posing for pictures at some restaurant that’s far too fancy for all of these frat boys.

They’re just finishing up dinner when Larks heads over to the DJ booth, taking a microphone that’s being handed to him.

“Alright, guys, I’m just gonna cut to the chase here,” he starts.

He’s holding a paddle that’s been painted bright purple, the signature FIJI diamond in the center of it and ‘President’ in shiny silver from top to bottom.

Nick reaches for Dylan’s hand where it rests on top of the table, and Dylan’s smiling as he bounces his leg.

“We all know who this is going to, and I know that you’ve all agreed that he was president material since he got his bid,” Larks says. “It’s been great to have him as my right hand man, and I can’t wait to see how he keeps you motherfuckers in line next semester.”

Everyone laughs at that, and Dylan ducks his head a little, picking it up right as Larks says, “President Stromer, get your ass up here.”

Their table of Jake, Chucky, Schmaltzy and Hayds burst into cheers, and Dylan is smiling so bright and so wide that Nick almost wants to cry. He should always feel this happy.

He says his pleasantries as he accepts the paddle, hugging Larks for a long while, both of them a little glassy eyed when they pull away.

“Enough serious shit,” Dylan says into the mic, acting like he’s not wiping tears out of his eyes. “Let’s party.”

Nick rolls his eyes as Dylan makes his way back to the table, and he’s barely on his feet before Dylan sets the paddle down, grabs Nick’s hand and pulls him into a kiss that’s more smiles than anything else.

 

//

 

When Nick’s alarm accidentally goes off the next morning at exactly 4:18 in the morning, it’s a little hard to move his lug of a boyfriend off of him in order to shut it off, but more than worth it in the way that Dylan cuddles a little closer after Nick settles back in.

“Too early,” Dylan slurs, face smushed into Nick’s neck.

Nick laughs a little, presses a kiss to Dylan’s hair. “Go back to sleep, babe.”

With Dylan wrapped around him and the sun not due to rise for at least two more hours, it’s easy enough to take his own advice.

 

x


End file.
